Free Baddest Bad Boys by Shannon McKenna, Cate Noble, E. C. Sheedy Page A

years back. A local Olympia paper told the story of Jon Amendola and Daniel MacNamara, who had come upon an unfortunate climber on their way up the Disappointment Cleaver route to the summit of Mt. Rainier. The man had been trapped in a rockfall in Cathedral Gap. Amendola and MacNamara had gotten the injured man out and transported him to Camp Muir. A grainy photo verified that Amendola’s climbing partner was the same man in the other photos. A Post-It was stuck to the clipping, upon which was scrawled, You’re famous. Hope you’re not still undercover, because Robin’s laminated this sucker all over her dorm room door. It was signed simply “Danny.”

    Julia stared at the green square of paper. She was trembling.

    Robin? Was it possible? The name of the girl in that photograph—she assumed she was Daniel MacNamara’s sister—had a name that evoked William’s avocation? Their whole life’s work? Robin. Incredible.

    The robin’s egg had been Julia’s idea. She’d been so honored when William had adopted it. It symbolized the cosmic potential inside each girl. The color invoked both the blue of the sky and William’s piercing blue eyes. The ovoid delicacy, the smallness, the femininity, symbolized the care they took with each soul they taught to fly.

    Robin. It was a sign. She looked young, too. William had liked them young. They’d done most of their hunting at college campuses.

    Julia closed her eyes. William’s smile of approval shone. She basked in it. And abruptly, his smile faded, and he made a gesture that said, And? Enough self-congratulation. She jolted into action, tucked the photos into her purse. The envelope had a letterhead that read Crowne Royale Group, with a Seattle address. That, too, she put in her purse.

    She was closing the front door behind her when the door of the other duplex popped open, emitting a fragrance of vanilla.

    It was an old lady, shriveled and bent, dressed in an oversized pink cardigan trimmed with yarn pompom balls. She peered through glasses that grotesquely enlarged her watery, colorless eyes. “Are you Joanna?” she demanded, in the strident tones of the partially deaf.

    Julia opened her mouth, but the old lady barged on. “Jonny told me you’d be coming from Social Services to help me sort my medicines. Usually Jonny does it for me, but he’s gone off fishing, so he got me a girl to come. So you’re the girl? You’re this Joanna?”

    Julia smiled. “Why, ah, yes. I am Joanna. I’m so sorry, but when Jon told me your name, I forgot to write it down in my notes. Mrs.—?”

    “Oh, call me Molly. Come on in, and have some lemon cookies.”

    Julia followed the wizened crone into her stuffy, crowded lair.

    “Thank you. I love lemon cookies,” she purred.

     

    Robin felt so warm. Deliciously warm, curled up in a hot embrace and someone was stroking her hair, too. Slow, feather-light strokes. As she became aware of them, each gentle touch made tender, tickling warmth pulse under the surface of her skin.

    Mmm. She didn’t want to wake up. She drank it up, like a kitten lapping cream. But she was drifting up to consciousness, bracing herself for that moment when it all melted away, leaving her alone.

    Her eyes fluttered open, and met Jon’s. Bright blue chips of clear August sky. Shock, followed by a thrill of delight, and then pleasure racing and tingling and throbbing here and there, in strategic points of her body and then all points in between. It was real. He was real.

    Omigod. This had really, truly, honest-to-God happened.

    It had been more intense than she’d imagined. Well worth the effort it had taken to wrangle that guy into submission.

    Although one could hardly characterize his exploits last night as submissive. She pressed her thighs together, biting her lip at the glow, the soreness. She remembered it like a crazy fever dream. Like being caught in the heart of a raging storm. Like being possessed by a god.

    Jon stared into her